"That makes it all the funnier," he returned, with a slight, blithe laugh. She knew he was in earnest, then, and felt a deep sense of comfort. Once Claire had spoken to him of Goldwin.... It already seemed far back in the past, now, although it was scarcely a year ago. Her words had been very few; her cheeks had burned while she uttered them. "Herbert," she had said, "I feel that I must ask you whether you have--have met"--And here she paused. Then, while he saw the pain and shame on her face, she went stammeringly on: "Oh, you know whom I mean--I don't want even to speak his name again--but it is best that I knew on ... on what terms you are, and all that." He grew pale while he looked at her. His voice was very grave, but perfectly kind. "I see him nearly every day, Claire. That is inevitable, you know. I have spoken to him only once since--that time. I didn't quite know whether I was strong enough to keep my temper. But I did keep it. I told him that I had learned everything. And then I told him, very quietly, that if he ever dared to address me again I would find an excuse for cowhiding him." Claire sprang up from her seat. "Oh, Herbert! did you say that? And did he ... stand it?" "Yes, he stood it. I didn't think he would, for a moment or two. It was imprudent of me, perhaps--on your account, I mean. But he walked away, without a word.... And now, Claire, promise me that you will never, as long as we both live, refer to this matter again." She threw her arms about his neck. "Never!" she cried. "I didn't want to speak of it, as it was. I promise you, with all my heart!" They had been married several years when a child, a boy, was born to them. Claire made the most adoring of mothers. Mrs. Diggs, who was forever dropping in upon her friend, with even more than her former intimacy, said, once, while she watched the baby laugh on its mother's lap, after the bath that Claire had lovingly given it with her own hands:-- "Upon my word, it does seem so odd, don't you know? I can't just quite realize it, even yet, Claire, dear." "Realize what?" said Claire, looking up from the rosy little treasure on her lap with a smile and two touches of color, for which the joy of her own motherhood was solely responsible. "Why, that you are the same being I used to know. It's a perfectly lovely change. You remember how I used to dote on you then. But I dote on you even more, now. Still, where _have_ all your grand ambitions flown to?" Claire looked serious, for a moment. Then she gave a light, sweet laugh. "Oh, I'm a very ambitious woman yet," she said. THE END. [Illustration] Works of Fiction PUBLISHED BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 4 PARK STREET, BOSTON, MASS. Thomas Bailey Aldrich.